


2019

by Cristinuke



Series: 1968-1982 [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Bucky has a lot of emotions okay?, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flogging, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Panic Attacks, hints of D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-24 18:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22062757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cristinuke/pseuds/Cristinuke
Summary: Bucky is grounded by Steve and Natasha.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Series: 1968-1982 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/399184
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	2019

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this fic rolling around in my head for years, and of course I wait until the literal last moment to post it in time. At least it's fitting, seeing as this has been a big year for me. I hope you enjoy it!

There were noticeable differences that Bucky could point out.

A warm glow of city light drifted in from outside, painting the room in tones of orange and yellow—faded from the shadows.

Ambient noises were always present, with the faraway cars occasionally driving on the streets below, the heaters kicking on, passing laughter from drunk friends.

The sheets, sleep-warm and soft, though damp now with sweat, and tangled up in his legs.

Both bodies were heavy and real on either side of him, living, breathing, stirring as they were slowly pulled away from unconsciousness with his heavy breathing.

Knick-knacks, pictures, books in shelves —aligned both upright and horizontally in any which way to fit— a stuffed animal thrown on a chair in the corner, an applesauce pouch on the bedside table, a mirror hanging on the wall— two centimeters lopsided to the right, _how can he not see it, it’s falling right there—_ details, details, _details._

God, there were so many details, he could have never have imagined them all, there were too many— he couldn’t count, couldn’t catalogue them all— but they all said the same thing.

This was real.

This was real.

_This was real._

He knew that, he could point them out easily, and everyone would sigh in relief because he knew it, _he knew it_ —

And yet.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Not now, not after…

“’m thirsty, jus- just gonna get a…drink.” Bucky mumbled out the vague excuse as he kicked off the sheets and crawled down the bed, on autopilot. He was aware enough to realize he’d kicked the sheets off of them too—probably had even messed them up from before anyway, by getting caught in them.

Normally, he would have felt bad about that, but his mind was scrambling to just get him from point A to literally anywhere else.

He stumbled off the bed and made his way to the door, gripping the frame when he got to it. He didn’t have vertigo— that would have felt too dream-like, if he had been paying more attention— but it almost felt like it. Everything was just a little bit off, and his skin felt strung tight across his bones. His sinews and marrow were desperate to crawl out, but had no room. He had to move, he had to—

He didn’t know what he had to do, but he had to get out.

He staggered through the apartment, making it as far as the kitchen, before the carpet ended and changed into tiles; the cold under his bare feet made him hesitate, though he didn’t know why.

It was just another detail. Different textures that he never would have thought of.

Or at least he thought he never would have thought of it. He’d been creative before.

He heard them coming up behind him, of course he did, even with his blood rushing in his ears, he would always hear them.

Of that, he was certain, at least.

They weren’t subtle either, his footsteps heavy, and her clothing rustling.

He knew they could be better than that, but they didn’t want to. Bucky didn’t want them to.

Bucky closed his eyes, shuddering.

Slender arms slid around his frame, gently wrapping herself around him from the back, while stronger hands came to cup his face, stroking his cheeks soothingly.

Bucky tried to lean into their warmth, but he couldn’t force his rigid muscles to move, let alone relax. He knew he was breathing too fast, his heart trying to squeeze itself tighter, and his stomach threatening to rebel.

“Easy, just let it pass, Buck.” Steve’s voice was low and comforting, and Bucky could feel his breath on his face. It even still smelled vaguely of his toothpaste from earlier.

Bucky gasped, realizing he hadn’t taken a breath in a while.

“That’s it, just breathe.” Natasha’s lips moved against the back of his neck, right above his t-shirt collar.

Bucky wanted to wince, because he could distinctly feel his tacky sweat dampening the shirt she was pressed up against. He didn’t want her to have to deal with this.

Honestly, Bucky didn’t want to have to deal with this either, but he’d never really had a choice.

“It’s just a panic attack, Buck.” Steve told him steadily, “You’re safe here. We’ve got you.”

It helped, hearing that this was just his anxiety going through the roof, even if he still couldn’t fully trust it. He didn’t think he could ever completely trust it, trust them, not the way he wanted. Decades of fragmented dreams, induced hallucinations, and broken memories left open scars that couldn’t be seen, but he could feel them. Like running a tongue over the empty space where a tooth used to live, and finding empty blankness that felt wrong. Yet it couldn’t be helped but to keep trying to look for it.

Some days were worse than others, and this was shaping up to be one of them.

“I—” Bucky choked out the single sound and then his throat constricted, cutting off anything else that wanted to escape.

Steve wiped away some tears that Bucky hadn’t even noticed.

Natasha gave him a gentle squeeze and Bucky whimpered, the sound finally finding its way out somehow.

“I lost you,” he whispered, barely breathing enough for anything more audible, “again. I can’t—, not again, please—”

“Shh, just stay with us, it’s okay. We’re here, we’re not leaving.” Steve’s voice held such a beautiful conviction and Bucky wanted to drown in its surety.

“You found us, remember? You came back to us, and now we’re here.” Natasha reached down to grab Bucky’s hands and brought them up a little; the end result had her hugging him from behind again, but now he was hugging himself too with her grip still tight.

Bucky nodded absently, a vague agreement. He knew they wouldn’t take offence to his noncommittal answer, not with this. This was a recurrent dream, and they were all well aware of the rough journey it had taken them all to find each other. The journey they still worked through every day, finding obstacles to navigate through and triggers to side-step.

For instance, it hadn’t taken them long to figure out that Bucky needed reminders that he was theirs, that this was all real, and that he wasn’t ever going back. That Natasha and Steve were never going to disappear into thin air, and that they loved Bucky.

But it did take a long while for all three of them to realize that Bucky occasionally needed a more _forceful_ reminder. A physical one.

Bucky had had a hard time trying to articulate that he sometimes felt like he needed pain to feel settled in his skin. Not any kind of pain, though, a specific kind, and only from them. Something to make him _feel_ and _stay present_.

It had taken a significantly longer time for Bucky to convince the other two that he really wanted it, particularly because they first thing they had promised him was that they would never hurt him. It took many stilted and awkward conversations before Natasha was on board; she had a better understanding of what Bucky was trying to convey, even if she didn’t particularly feel the same sentiment. But with her on Bucky’s side, it hadn’t taken long to convince Steve to at least try. Steve, who would do anything to make Bucky feel just a little bit better, even if he didn’t understand it wholly. Steve, who would take pains to solidify the fact that they were never going to leave him, no matter what nightmares or memories tried to change Bucky’s mind.

The first time they had tried it, Bucky had been astonished to find peace quickly. He had relaxed so completely and suddenly that it had nearly panicked Steve, and only Natasha had managed to salvage the situation to placate Steve and let Bucky enjoy the moment. Luckily, they had learned soon after that how to work together to achieve their goals. Bucky’s endgame was the clearest, but it hadn’t taken long for the other two to find their own needs met through trial and error.

For a fun, and unexpected twist for Bucky, a lot of the times they ended up with sex. He would never complain about that.

He had a feeling that this time, however, was not one of those times, but he was never a good judge of situations when he spiraled like this. That was why Steve and Natasha were the ones in charge and not him.

So when Natasha murmured “Come on,” and released him enough to move, Bucky yielded to the gentle pressure and went where he was led.

“We’ve got you, just relax.” Steve’s voice was clear over the rushing anxiety that swept over Bucky. “Tell me what’s real.”

An order. A clear command, and one Bucky was glad to follow. He knew the drill by now, and swallowed around the lump in his throat to rasp out, “The mixer. On the counter.” He could see it in the shadows the street lights outside painted. It wasn’t dark or ominous, but it was different enough to make Bucky uncomfortable.

Luckily, they both knew that, and as Natasha hummed in approval, she guided him into the hallway flicking the lights on as they went. Bucky blinked hard at the brightness before focusing on the task at hand, small reliefs seeping in as he could make out things so much more clearly now. Any edge of illusion slowly vanished in the lamplight.

“The landline…that I insist we keep.” Bucky continued, pointing out evidence that this was real and not one of his old dreams. “Air conditioning control. The mirror.” He refused to look in it as they passed, not particularly wanting to witness the mess he was. Even on good days it was hard, which was why Natasha had put it up, to help bring down those walls, and remind him it was okay. He was okay.

He was not okay, not now, not as he was trying desperately to remind himself that this was Steve and Natasha, _his_ Steve and Natasha, and that they weren’t figments of his imagination.

“The door, with the busted handle,” Bucky gasped out, nearly tripping over himself as his feet stopped of their own accord at the doorway.

Steve’s grip on him prevented him from falling— he’d never fall with them around— as he praised, “Good job. You’re doing so well, keep going.”

Bucky’s feet felt heavy, but he moved, taking the next step to bring them into the room. “Pillows. On the floor, from where Steve tossed them.” Bucky’s voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Nat doesn’t like it when they get dirty.”

Natasha’s affirming “You sleep on them, of course I don’t like it dirty,” was quiet, but the sound traveled clearly. It nearly pulled a smile from Bucky, her tone gently exasperated.

They got to the foot of the bed; the comforter and sheets were tangled up from where they’d left them. Bucky reached out to place his hands on them and feel the way the down moved gently under the pressure. It moved almost too perfectly— he expected it too much— and a sudden vice of fear overtook him.

“Please,” he choked out, hands fisting the comforter. He hated this, knowing it was just his brain trying a last ditch effort to throw him off. Just electrical impulses that made him believe this wasn’t real.

God, he wanted this to be real, just for once, please, _please—_

“I need… _help…_ ”

He needed them.

However he got them, in whatever form, he knew that much, at least.

He just wished…

He always wished.

Then, a steady voice.

Steve.

Of course.

“Get on.”

Steve let go as Bucky clumsily scrambled onto the bed, but didn’t go far before Natasha climbed up behind him and stopped him from lying down. She pulled him up, moving him with the lightest tap before he’d gotten into the position she wanted. With ease, she tugged at his sleep shirt, and he wordlessly brought his arms up so she could slide it over and off of him, throwing it over the side of the bed.

Goosebumps rose up along his arms, but Natasha chased them away, rubbing into his skin with practiced moves.

“You’re so good for us, aren’t you? Even when it’s hard, I know.” She spoke out, her voice carrying in the room, and Bucky could only bow his head. He was kneeling, his feet hanging off the edge of the bed, as he faced the headboard. Natasha maneuvered around until she was kneeling in front of him and reached up to touch his face, tipping his head up so he was forced to look at her.

“We’re going to help, Bucky.”

Bucky. She called him Bucky.

That was important.

That was real.

Bucky hung on to that.

“Steve’s getting it, and we’re going to bring you back to us, okay?” Natasha sunk her fingers into Bucky’s hair, which was shorter now. He’d cut it a couple months ago. Or rather, Natasha had cut it.

They had laughed as he sat on the edge of the bathtub, and she’d been behind him on the toilet seat. She had cut the braid she’d made and had shown it to him. Bucky had laughed, giddy and exhilarated at taking control of something so banal.

His hair was shorter now, but not so short that Natasha couldn’t take hold of it and pull.

Pull Bucky back to attention.

“Focus on her, Buck.” Steve’s voice came from somewhere behind him, slightly muffled, and Bucky knew he was in their closet. Steve was making too much noise— incriminating noises. Bucky knew exactly what Steve was doing.

He felt himself shake in anticipation.

He wanted this— _so much_.

Wanted to feel it, feel _them_. He wanted the release that came with this, and wanted to quiet his mind.

He just wanted peace again.

Steve didn’t make him wait for long.

“We’re going to start now, okay?” He framed it like a question, but Bucky knew it was anything but. “Just relax. We’ve got you now.”

Bucky’s breath was shaky.

Natasha’s grip tightened to get his attention, and then released him enough to comb through his hair again—lazy pulls. “Hold onto my arms, Bucky.”

He heard her, felt the words slide over him, but it took her repeating the instruction before he could drag his heavy hands up. His fingers fumbled for a moment before he found a solid grip around her biceps.

He ignored the way he shivered; he wished he could blame it on the air conditioning kicking in, but even that failed when he remembered they had switched to the heaters last week.

“Nat…” he forced the name out, and she grinned. She nodded in encouragement and then pulled him in for a kiss. Her lips were soft under him, but steady. She led the way, and Bucky followed blindly.

He was distracted, finally, and didn’t hear the hushed rustle of the flogger as it swung through the air. He felt it, though, a heartbeat later, and couldn’t stop from crying out into Natasha’s mouth.

“Hey there.” Steve intoned behind him, hitting him again with another lash. “You just hang onto her, I’ve got you.”

Bucky shuddered hard, flinching at the third, and then the fourth. After that he stopped counting, not seeing the point, and not caring because Natasha had taken control of him again, pulling him towards her and letting their foreheads touch and rest. She alternated between bringing him back for a distracting kiss, and letting him rest against her while she carded her fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp that provided a sharp contrast to the dull warmth of the hits Steve laid on his back.

Each hit thudded against him, reverberating throughout his whole body. He accepted each one, processing it too slowly, so that by the time he felt like he had the impact under control, he was dealt another that forced him to start all over.

It was perfect.

Steve drove every thought away.

He had been so, _so_ afraid.

Skittish, he knew. About everything

Anxious, because he couldn’t trust anything.

Guilty. For not trusting them.

Nervous. About gripping too tightly onto Natasha’s arms.

But it all flittered away with each thump. He felt himself falling, sliding.

But he knew they were there.

Natasha and Steve.

There were there to catch him.

They always did.

They always would.

So he began to stop.

Stop worrying.

Stop reacting.

Stop thinking.

Stop everything.

He didn’t need to do anything anymore.

Just be.

Bucky felt himself sinking deep, and his mouth twitched into a small smile. Steve had gotten really good with the flogger in the past few months, dedicating himself to learning how to wield it so he’d never accidentally hurt Bucky.

Bucky knew he never would.

But he did appreciate the certain rhythms Steve played on him, knowing just how to bring him down.

Paired with Natasha, who was lavishing quiet praises and gentle touches all along his skin, the two were a force to reckon with. They worked well together in any capacity, but in this, they were especially brutal. They knew exactly how to team up on Bucky, and he never had a chance in hell against them.

Not that he cared.

He always preferred to surrender to it all.

It was easier, and Bucky was done making things harder for himself.

At least for now.

They made it easy.

Eventually, Bucky noticed a lull, and realized Steve had stopped. Natasha was still talking, but it took a moment before the words penetrated though his fog and gave actual meaning to them, rather than just raw emotion.

“He’s finally relaxed.” Natasha said, talking over him, and Bucky could hear the pride laced in her words. “His eyes are completely blown. Gorgeous.”

Bucky shuddered under the compliment, too open beneath her gaze.

“Good.” That was all the warning Bucky got before Steve stepped up to the edge of the bed and draped himself onto Bucky’s back.

A broken moan escaped Bucky’s throat as millions of flashes swept through him— bright spots of pain that Steve’s contact abruptly brought into focus— and he couldn’t help but arch into Steve’s backward embrace, relishing in the feeling. Steve caught him, bringing an arm around to secure him. His forearm was tight across Bucky’s chest, pinning him to Steve’s chest. Carefully, with his other hand, he guided Bucky’s head to rest back on Steve’s shoulder, to which Bucky took immediate advantage of, turning into his neck.

His breath was erratic, still, hitching on every exhale. It took a moment before he realized his body was shuddering uncontrollably from all the overwhelming sensations, and he nearly had an apology on his lips, but no sound came out. He didn’t think Steve minded too much anyway, because he just tightened his grip on Bucky, making him feel safe and held.

“He’s hard, you know.” Natasha commented factually, sweeping her hands up and down Bucky’s arms in a soothing gesture. Bucky could hear the smile in her words, but her tone was perfectly calm.

“That’s okay.” Steve answered her and Bucky reveled in the direct vibrations he felt from Steve’s low voice, pressed against him as he was. “It’s not what he needs right now.”

Natasha made an agreeing noise, and continued to settle Bucky.

Bucky had his own vague internal agreement. He had noticed he was hard because she had mentioned it, and knew full well how easily they could drive him to desperation with sex. But Steve said he didn’t need it, so he didn’t. It was that simple. He only needed whatever Steve said he needed. He’d take whatever Steve wanted to give him.

Bucky didn’t know how long they remained there, in their own little bubble suspended in time, before Steve hummed to get Bucky’s attention, and then guided Bucky forward.

“Easy, there you go. Just follow her.” He instructed Bucky, and Bucky went, letting Natasha pull him down until he was laying on his front on the bed. Each movement tugged and pulled at the muscles in his back, reawakening each ache and sting, but Bucky just breathed through it.

He noticed his breathing had eased up a bit, and he almost wondered when that had happened.

He also noticed the pressure along his cock, still plump and pulsing, but because Steve said he didn’t need it, Bucky let the feeling wash over him.

He heard and felt them move around him, clothes and sheets rustling as they switched positions. Steve came to lie down next to Bucky, and his own smile lit up his face. A halo to showcase Steve’s brilliance.

“Hey there.” Steve’s hand came up to cup Bucky’s cheek. “I’m tagging Natasha in. Her turn to bring you down.” Bucky watched Steve’s face, feeling his own face trying to mimic Steve’s expression. He thought he might have failed a little if Steve’s fond look was any indication; but it didn’t matter so long as Steve kept touching him. He’d taken up Natasha’s role of keeping Bucky distracted by caressing his face.

Meanwhile, Bucky felt Natasha’s weight settle over him, straddling Bucky’s sore ass and making him hiss in renewed pain.

“Sorry, sweetie.” Bucky knew Natasha was still smiling— not sorry at all— and then he stopped paying attention when she began to massage his back.

He turned his face into the pillow and yelled at that.

Her fingers dug into muscles with professional accuracy, pushing the pain of the flogging deeper while forcing everything to loosen up. Bucky kept trying to tense up and brace against her, but he couldn’t hold it for long, and ended up relaxing, each time more violently. Within minutes he was gasping and moaning again, barely cognizant of Steve’s hand holding him down by the nape of his neck.

This was the final straw. This was why they both worked so well together.

Bucky felt something like a wave crash over him— all of the pain, his anxiety, all the tension he’d held onto so tightly— everything just washed away, finally and completely released for the first time all night.

By the time she was done— sliding off of him to join his other side and sandwich Bucky between the two of them— Bucky was utterly exhausted, both mentally and physically. He was so heavy, an immovable stone with breaths that had twisted from shallow and chaotic to deep and measured.

Steve wiped tears from Bucky’s face, and the cool breeze in its wake was a welcome balm. He was past words, and could barely keep his eyes open, but he managed to twitch his fingers in search for them both. Natasha was first, pulling at Bucky’s shoulder until he was on his side with his trapped hand coming across the front of his body. She then scooted closer behind him until her hips slotted against his— pressed together so tightly— and fit her fingers between his metal ones, giving him a small squeeze. He loved that she treated the arm the same as his flesh one, rubbing her thumb against the outside of his palm in an absentminded way as she settled their hands on Bucky’s waist.

Steve followed quickly, finding his other hand and doing the same. He crowded against Bucky, closing the gap he’d made, and let their entwined hands come to rest on his own hip.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked. Steve always asked, even though he could always read Bucky like a book.

Bucky carefully squeezed Steve’s hand twice— _I’m fine_.

He was more than fine now. He had them both, and was allowed this moment to enjoy their attention.

“We’ll still be here in the morning.” Natasha promised, speaking against Bucky’s shoulder and then pressing a kiss against the skin she found there. “We’ll still be here.”

Bucky let out a heavy sigh, relief a heady feeling. He believed them. He let himself believe this was his reality. The only reality that mattered.

 _This was still real_.

He allowed himself drift off to sleep, surrounded by love.

And in the morning, they were still there. Just as promised.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this fic was a good closure to the series, just as we're closing out the decade.  
> Just know Bucky's life can only continue to get better from here :D


End file.
